


Don't Fall Asleep at the Helm.

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Confusing Character Death, Constructed Reality, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, Magic, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison wondered sometimes why the only things in her life that seemed real where the two people that kept her from going insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Fall Asleep at the Helm.

"Don't even think about it." Lydia hissed watching Allison instead of the parade of men limping in through the gates, the feeling of static thick in the air. "I will end you before you take a single step." 

"But they're so busy," Allison whined. 

"And the minute they notice you gone, who will be to blame?" 

Allison's shoulders slumped, "Sorry." 

Lydia nodded sharply, hand wrapped tight around Allison's wrist, as she watched the hunters struggle to get back in the gates. Each of them wrapped in muddied bandages and dragging those who could no longer walk behind them. 

None of the men stopped, moving toward the barracks or their homes, ignoring everyone that they passed. Allison's dad stumbled through the gates last, sliding inside just as the metal locks clanged into place, eyes dull and rimmed by far more wrinkles than she remembered. He barely had the chance to glance around before her mother appeared at his side, her posture screaming disapproval and barely contained rage. She snarled at whatever he whispered to her, but threw his arm over her shoulders and helped him away from the town center. 

"They didn't find the right pack," Stiles stated joining them, his arm wrapping around Lydia's waist, allowing her to fall back against him. "And they lost ground. I felt it through the wards." 

Allison nodded feeling the line of tension working it's way up her spine, knowing that when she got home there would be another cold war settled over the house. There would be days of harsh words and bitter snapping before her mother decided to throw another battalion into the woods under her father's command.  

Sometimes, when they're arguments were loud enough that Stiles would wince and cover his ears even though the sound came from the wards and not his ears, Allison wondered if her mother kept sending her father out into the woods to kill him. She hoped that it wasn't.

"I thought Deaton had control of the outer-wall wards?" Lydia asked curiously. 

"He did, something shifted. I've got the master key and he's barely able to sense them." Stiles agreed looking far more tired then either of them were use to. 

His hair stood up in greasy clumps where his hands had tugged and ink smudged his hands and cheeks, a scrawl of cursive standing out against his cheekbones. Lydia licked her thumb and scrubbed it away. Allison noted how he was wearing the same clothes as he had the last time they had dragged him out of his room, six days ago, and decided to throw him in the lake by the training ground. 

She shook her head as the adults whispered about the two, "Come on. You promised me a new bow to test." 

Lydia smirked, "That's right. Danny should have the practise bows finished by now." 

"Ah," Stiles flinched. "Maybe I should just meet you at the field? Set up the targets and such." 

"No." 

Stiles sighed, allowing Lydia to drag him along the road, Allison on their heels. She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly as they got closer to the woodcarver's shop. 

Danny met them outside his dad's shop, looking everywhere but at them as he shoved the bows into Lydia's arms and hurried back inside. Stiles' jaw tightened and his hands curled into fists. 

"Breathe," Lydia whispered calmly, serene look plastered onto her face, a match for Deaton's. "Breathe and know one day we will make them pay for this." 

Stiles seemed to shrink into himself, the gold of his ring dimming, shadows dancing over it as they pretended to look over a stall, "I want to apologize to him." 

"He's already an outcast, he doesn't need more. We'll fix it when there isn't a chance of us being overruled," Allison murmured, pulling a handful of coins out of her pocket for the apples that she didn't want. "And we will fix this." 

Danny had been caught kissing Stiles by the Sheriff, who had reacted just like they had assumed he would when Stiles had whispered that maybe he was more into guys then he was girls. It had led to Danny's outing and Stiles' hasty betrothment to Lydia to appease the village. As the last two magically capable in the town, it was their _responsibility_ to have children to continue their legacy, all the better if it was with each other. No one wanted the wards to fall, not with the monsters that lurked beyond it and the crumbling stone wall that encircled Beacon Hills. 

"Still feeling the guilt." 

"Good," Lydia stated curling  back into his chest, putting on the show that the town expected to see. "If you stop then I will take your balls. There's a good spell for it in Deaton's books." 

Allison thanked the stall keeper, shoving the apples into her pack and led the way closer to the wall furthest from the gate, collapsing into the grass with a sigh. She struggled out of her quiver and fell back, spreading out like a starfish contently. 

Lydia raised an eyebrow at her, pulling a blanket from her purse to sit on to keep the grass stains off her skirt. She dragged a small leather pouch out next, opening to keep the sharpness of her carving tools against the pad of her thumb, humming when it sliced a single layer off. She started talking, not bothering to look at Stiles lining up a handful of mason jars on the ground beside him, leather journal open on her lap. 

"I was thinking, if we could increase the power output, eliminating the need to pull the string so far back, it might allow for faster reload and firing. Always a good thing when you're out there." Lydia started showing Stiles the basic design she wanted. "Maybe with a minor accuracy addition?" 

Stiles studied her work, "I don't think those runes will work together the way you want them to, see how different they are?" 

Allison tuned them out, knowing it would be hours before they ever started carving their first attempt. Even longer if anything on it failed and they argued over the rune placement and the exact shape of this one versus that one. She could care less, far more interested in the way the clouds covered the sun and the light shined through the leaves of the tree they had taken refuge under. 

Her eyes felt heavy, the lack of sleep finally creeping up to settle heavily over her limbs. Her friends sounded distant, garbled, as if she had sunk before the earth. She snorted, rolling onto her side and curled an arm underneath her head before allowing herself to drift off to the sounds of their bickering. 

She wondered when the last time the world had felt so real. 

 

 

"I'm not eating that!" Scott stated holding his hands up. "I remember what happened last time you cooked Allison. You're a talented hunter, but you gave me food poisoning." 

Allison sniffed, stirring the noodles on the stovetop, "That was one time!" 

"You gave a _werewolf_ food poisoning. What part of that don't you understand? Derek didn't even escape and Stiles ended up in the hospital. My mom thought someone had tried to kill him, again." 

Allison kept her mouth shut. They both knew that Stiles had enough attempts on his life without Allison putting him the hospital for something as innocent as food poisoning. Though Lydia had laughed herself sick when Allison had related the story to her last week. 

"Stiles taught me how to do this and he just snuck out the back door with Boyd when you pulled up! He's watched me all but the two minutes it took you to get in. Please?" She begged turning wide eyes on him hopefully. 

Scott scowled, "That doesn't work on me and you know it." 

"Then I'll have Isaac do it." 

He sighed. They both knew that Isaac's puppy eyes were the things of fairytales, enough to make even the most hard of hearts melt, or at least make Derek order something other than Stiles' favorite chinese on pack nights. Or make Erica buy more than easy-mac when they went shopping together. 

Allison wondered sometimes if he had sold his soul for them, but most deals only lasted for ten years and they were already twenty-seven and he was still alive. Stiles held out, stating that it might have been sealed when he was eighteen, but they all knew that it was something that only Isaac could pull off. 

"Please?" Scott tried instead, looking pitiful draped over the back of a chair. "With wolfsbane laced arrows on top?" 

"Weeks of practice and Stiles always tried it. Even when it came out black and tougher than the turkey that my dad made two years ago, you could at least make an attempt." Allison wheedled. 

"If only for bro-solidarity," Scott whined. "But I refuse to eat more than a bite if it tastes bad." 

Allison nodded, "I expect nothing less." 

Scott draped himself across her back, abandoning the chair since they had reached a compromise, nose buried into the base of her neck. She bit back a giggle as his stubble scraped over her skin. 

"Hey, Ally?" 

"Yes, Scott?" 

"Why'd you turn the lights out?" 

Allison felt her blood freeze, trying to keep her eyes on dinner as her head turned against her will, to catch sight of Scott's face. 

The skin stretched too taunt, bloodless gouges lining his cheeks and up to the black holes that had once held his eyes. 

Allison jolted upright biting back a scream, pinned in place in moments before she could hurt anyone. Stiles rolled his eyes as she fought against his hold, refusing to move until the dark look left her face and her fingers stopped inching toward the knives strapped to her thighs. 

"Thank you," She choked out, trying to center herself. "For stopping me." 

Stiles shrugged, "That's what friends are for. At least, I think." 

"This isn't the time to that up," Lydia interrupted blandly, holding out a bow to Allison. "We've got two, if you still feel up for this." 

It was as much concern as Lydia was known to show outside their rooms, knowing that the town played them off each other to get what it wanted, had since they were too young to understand it. Instead they played friendly with a touch of dislike that made their parents smile and mutter about traits passing on to their children. 

"Yeah. Let me see?"

Allison accepted the bow, checking the balance and draw, nodding when it wasn't any different than she was use to, snagging a handful of arrows as she moved to the firing lane. Further down were her mother's men testing out their equipment and chatting loudly enough to attract her attention. 

She ignored them. Younger men in the battalions had been fighting for her attention since she had turned of fourteen, wanting the prestige of marrying the next Argent Matriarch. The last, if she didn't have a daughter, none of her family was still alive beyond the walls. 

Behind her, Allison listened to Lydia scribble down notes. Factoring in wind and the hint of annoyance burning in Allison's chest, as she fired. She stopped only long enough to trade out bows, cursing when the string on the second snapped and sliced her cheek.

"Fuck, fuck." She pressed her fingers to the wound and scowled at the blood. "Jesus that hurt." 

Stiles snorted, "I bet. You wanna fix her up?" 

"Fine," Lydia sighed, swiping a burning finger down Allison's cheek. "But you have to admit that healing magic is more your department." 

"No. I'm defense, princess," He ducked the ball of fire Lydia threw his way. "Neither of us has much talent for healing." 

Allison laughed, watching their argument devolve into name calling and hair pulling. She liked spending time with them, not just because they were her friends. 

Most of the town moved like it was scripted. Like each move was planned out years ago and only now just starting back up. Conversations where stilted and hard to carry on, as if the same things had been said so often that it had rusted into place, always there. 

Even Danny had no substance, barely affected by his outcast status. It was like they were the only people awake in a sea of coma patients. 

"Alright," Allison broke them up, when Lydia screeched loud enough to make the hunter battalion cover their ears. "That's enough. We have more important things to do, don't we?" 

Lydia sniffed, "I suppose." 

"Thanks Allison," Stiles whispered dropping back beside Lydia to argue over their work. 

Allison shrugged, digging one of her apples out of her pack, feeling more tired than she had walking here. 

Nightmares about Scott McCall were common, slipping in the closer to his birthday it got. Because a werewolf had broken through the wards when Deaton had failed to recharge them in time, biting Scott and a handful of others. Scott's mom had helped him get out from the walls, sobbing as he had run into the forest. 

Victoria Argent's hunters had dragged Deaton back from the wardstone, hidden deep in the woods beyond the safety of the walls, two days later. One of them had presented her Scott's eyes, a trophy to place on the mantle.

Allison had just told Scott that she loved him, an innocent eleven year old hovering to hear his answer. It had never come. His eyes shoved into a jar with all the others her mother had collected over the years, staring at the world without seeing even now. 

She wondered sometimes if that was when she had realized that she hated Beacon Hills. That the only people she could trust were Lydia and Stiles because they had both lost more for this forsaken town then either cared to admit. 

"Allison, check this out!" 

Allison rolled her shoulders and moved closer, nodding politely as Stiles explained the runes and hoped that he didn't ask her what he was saying afterwards. She could never pass his memory tests. 

 

Stiles shifted in his seat, the remnants of the spell he had been practising still rushing through his veins and making him shake. Lydia leaned against his side, her face half hidden as she tried to have him focus on her, anchoring him inside his skin. Allison slumped in her chair, body aching from the last week of training, barely able to keep eyes on their parents. 

Sheriff Stilinski leaned against the wall, attention split between them and the rest of Beacon Hills leaders, Melissa McCall-Stilinski at his back, hands shoved into her pockets to hide the shaking. She nibbled her lip, staring at her feet and keeping far away from Allison's parents. Allison couldn't blame her, they had ordered her son's death. 

Victoria smiled triumphantly, arms crossed over her chest as she argued with Chris. Not that Allison thought anyone outside her family would notice, since it seemed to be taking place mostly in body language and heavily disguised threats that passed over the rest of their heads. 

Lydia's mother, Susan, said nothing. Instead she looked down her nose at the others, studying her nails when she could get away with it. Obviously uncaring about whatever had the rest of them tied up in knots. But Allison had never been good at reading Susan, so she might have been wrong. 

"Deaton's coming," Stiles whispered still sounding more out of it then normal. "He's not happy." 

Neither of them had a chance to reply, Deaton sweeping to the house with his usual flair, settling into a chair away from everyone. 

"Since we're all finally here," Victoria stated directing a pointed look at Deaton, who pretended that he hadn't noticed. "There was something we needed to discuss." 

Chris took over, "We, have decided that you will be accompanying us on this year's trip to recharge the wardstone. This wasn't an unanimous vote, so we hope you don't disappoint us." 

"Of course not. When do we leave?" Lydia asked, keeping a hand curled around Stiles' wrist. 

"Three days, you'll be gone for a week." The Sheriff answered, avoiding looking at his son. "I expect you to come back safe." 

Stiles smiled tightly, still furious at his father for what had happened to Danny, reaching behind his chair to clasp the hand that Allison has hidden from sight. She hoped no one noticed, it was more comforting than any of the platitudes that her parents had shoved at her in the last month. 

"All three of us?" Allison checked.

Chris and Victoria exchanged looks and Allison wondered how much of the last cold war had been about her participation. But Chris nodded, once. 

"All three of you. You are to go purchase any supplies you might need. So get to work." He passed them each a handful of coins, turning his back on them. 

They ducked out, slinking through the doors as another argument broke out behind them. There was a reason that their parents didn't meet more than once a month and during emergencies, spending the rest of their time frantically avoiding each other. 

"Outside the wall," Allison squealed once they had ditched the guards attempting to watch them. "We're going outside the wall!" 

"To see the wardstones, that Deaton's never mentioned before because it's not that important," Lydia added. 

Stiles shrugged, "Suspicious, but the second we start asking questions you know what's going to happen. What always happens." 

"We get ignored or told that it's not important?" Lydia answered, finally leaning back against him as they emerged into the market. "Also, I hate you." 

Stiles smiled dangerously at a stall keeper, the skin around his eyes dark from lack of sleep, "I know. You think I want to marry you?" 

"Somewhere, in another universe, there is a Stiles that would like nothing better." 

Allison rolled her eyes and ordered what they needed, keeping a close eye on anyone who might be stupid enough to approach. 

As long as no one heard Lydia and Stiles, it was safe. But there was already talk of marrying them now instead of waiting two more years and the topics of their fights would be the needed push to make the mayor, Lydia's mother, agree. 

Married couples were expected to spend less time doing trivial things, like spending time with childhood friends, and more time running households and being productive members of the community. Allison knew her reasons were selfish. Lydia and Stiles knew they were selfish, they loved her anyways. 

"I want to spell most of this," Stiles warned Allison as they let Lydia study the meager selection of hiking boots, prodding at the thick soles and soft leathers. "A little extra protection never hurt." 

Allison nodded, "Especially since the land around the wardstone was lost to one of the packs. Unless we got that back?" 

"Haven't yet. If anything we lost more ground," Stiles answered eyes glowing with a hint of magic, just enough to read the wards without anyone outside their group noticing. 

"Would be too much trouble," She sighed. 

 

"Why are you dancing?" Allison asked dropping her keys into the little bowl with Scott's as she slipped off her shoes. Scott spun Stiles around, wincing when his best friend cursed his feet. "Dance off?" 

Stiles laughed, "Aren't you glad our spouses don't get jealous of our bromance?" 

"I have bruises that say otherwise!" Scott groaned, dipping Stiles dramatically, one of Stiles' legs curved around Scott's waist. 

"Baby!" 

Allison rolled her eyes, instead following the sound of voices into the kitchen. Derek glanced at her as she entered, one earbud hanging over his shoulder as he typed, half listening to what Erica was saying as she perched on the edge of the countertop. 

"Come on Derek," Erica pleaded, lower lip sticking out in a pout. "It's not even going to be for the whole day, just a few hours. Please?" 

Derek snorted, "You aren't taking my camaro, end of discussion." 

"Still more crazy about that car then your husband?" Allison joked, raiding the fridge for the package of juice boxes she knew was in it.

She had bought them on the way home from work yesterday and, so help him, if Scott had finished them off again, she would kill him. Allison relaxed, finding them hidden behind the carton of chinese that she wasn't sure hadn't been there when they had moved in. She made a note to have Scott clean out the fridge.

"Yes," Derek deadpanned. "Honestly I should have mentioned it before this, but my marriage to Stiles isn't even legal. I married the camaro the day I turned twenty-one, Laura was the witness." 

Allison figured the burst of laughter from the living room was Scott relaying the conversation to Stiles, joining Derek at the table, leaning to the side to catch a glimpse of his new proposal for his architecture firm. She smacked him when he snatched her juice box, laughing as she turned to offer one to Erica. 

Only to hear Stiles scream as her breath caught in her throat. Erica's throat littered the counter behind her, tongue lolling out where her bottom jaw use to be. Derek's head turned at an impossible angle, skin burnt and scabbing. 

Allison woke up cursing. 

 

 Allison stumbled to the front gates, thankful that the cold gave her an excuse to shudder and tremble, covering for her lack of sleep the night before. She rubbed her hands along her upper arms and almost absently wished that she had remembered a light jacket. 

Stiles nodded at her, the bags under his eyes looking permanently etched into his skin, as he listened to Melissa go over his packing list one more time. He folded his arms over the final sweater that she shoved into his arms, returning the tight hug before she hurried off. Lydia watched bemused, her own bag hanging loosely from a single shoulder and her mother, the mayor, nowhere in sight. 

"You," She declared joining Allison. "Look as bad as he does. Did I miss a memo?" 

"Nightmares," Allison answered scrubbing at her eyes to make the gritty feeling stop. 

"I know, Stiles mentioned. About what?" 

Allison didn't answer, smiling tightly at Deaton as he joined them, his face a blank mask. Stiles stumbled toward them, shoving his sweater at Allison with a look, who took it gratefully, sighing when her body stopped trying to make her dance.

"Alright," Chris clapped his hands to grab their attention. "We're going to broken up into groups, each one will keep track of the rest of their group and obey all orders, are we clear?' 

"Good. Allison, you and I are covering the front, stay on guard. Deaton, you and your apprentices will come next. If anything happens to the front or rear guard, you get your ass moving and do your job."

Victoria interrupted, "I'll take the back with a handful of the men, keeping our retreat clear." 

"It's settled." 

Allison followed her father out the gates and down the dirt trail, glancing back excitedly to see the gate close behind them. She had finally escaped the walls of Beacon Hills.

Not that outside the wall was that different from inside, Allison decided twenty minutes later, watching as the clumps of trees grew taller and closer together. Except for the sound. Everywhere she turned there was something cooing or huffing in the shadows of the trees. Nothing like the silence that she had grown accustomed to. 

Behind her, Allison could hear Deaton explaining the ward recharging rituals to Stiles in slightly more detail. She knew Lydia would close by scribbling away the information to go over later. Stiles' memory wasn't always the best and with all the external stimuli there was a chance that he might not even notice what happened until they returned home. But he seemed to be nodding along to what Deaton said, when Allison glanced back, so maybe he would.

Lydia's frown as she made notes to herself in the margins of her writing made Allison giggle. She had never done well with being denied the knowledge that she wanted. 

Further back, her mother and her men marched, breaking off periodically to scavenge in the trees and coming back carrying various strange looking things from the treeline. 

"See this?" Chris muttered, dragging Allison from her thoughts, pointing to a flurry of marks carved into a tree as they passed. "Those are territory markings, the closer we get and the further we enter what the 'wolves call theirs, the more we'll see." 

Allison nodded, checking the trees curiously, wondering for a moment why her father always spoke of werewolves without the condescending lit of her mother. 

The marks grew more prominent, the burning sage scent of Stiles' active magic marking the faltering of the wards as they were pushed back by the 'wolves. She slipped an arrow from her quiver when the marks appeared on trees on both sides of the path and flushed when her father nodded approvingly. 

"Good job, that marks the 'official' entrance into the 'wolves land," Chris whispered cocking his rifle. "Stay close." 

"Yes sir," Allison answered following on his heels. 

A hum rumbled through the air on all sides, not echoing in Allison's ears but inside her mind. The scent of Stiles' magic, earthy and strong, coiling protectively around the outside of their small section, the constant leaving and returning of her mother's too much on top of keeping a functioning,  _moving_ _,_ ward that pissed on everything Deaton had ever said on the subject.

Lydia's magic, a twist of tang hidden unless one knew where to look, followed. An almost completed spell hanging in the air at her side, ready for anything that might dare to attack. The mix made the tension drop from Allison's shoulders. 

If, by a miracle, a monster passed both the wards and the attack, Allison would kill it. Just like they knew she would.

They reached the wardstone before nightfall, Victoria's men rushing to set up camp. Allison kept herself off to the side, Stiles and Lydia hanging onto her sides, tired from the magic they had held up until a perimeter had been set, whispering furiously about the wardstone. 

The wardstone, which wasn't even a stone, was a large blackened tree stump that reeked of decay and rot. Maggots writhed in the thick cracks, where age had worn away at the edges and carved deep. 

Allison's stomach churned as the scent hung in the air, sick and cloying clinging no matter how she covered her nose. Or attempted to breathe through her mouth. 

"We," Lydia paused searching for the right word. " _Feed_ that?" 

Stiles looked green as he nodded, "It looks like that, doesn't it?" 

"Is that blood?" Allison asked finally, her face pale. "Please tell me that stump is not covered in blood." 

"The Nematon," Stiles started tiredly. "Which is what they call the tree, requires a yearly sacrifice of blood to power the wards." 

"So we each open up a vein and bleed until it's happy?" Lydia asked looking rather disgusted. 

Stiles shook his head, "Didn't you hear Deaton? It takes a sacrifice. They kill someone to power the wards for another year."

They fell silent as Victoria's men walked past, nodding to acknowledge Allison's presence. She waved them off, looking for all the world, as if she was the only thing keeping their young mages from falling to the ground. Otherwise she would be helping them set up. 

 "But who?" Lydia muttered curiously.

"Did Deaton pull you aside yesterday and give you this long speech on how it was an honor to teach you and that you're the most gifted student that he's ever had?"

Allison blinked, reentering the conversation, "You have to be joking." 

"Who else?" Stiles insisted quietly. "You, Lyds, and I are too important. We're the future of Beacon Hills, which is why your parents are out. And like hell would your mom let one of her men be killed for something so, plebian. Deaton's had this death sentence hovering over his head for the last five years." 

Lydia shuddered, "Or something from the forest." 

"I think Stiles' right, this time. Deaton wasn't killed five years ago because neither of his apprentices were able to take his place, with this ceremony, you'll know everything that he does," Allison said finally. "But normally, I think Lydia's right, they get something from the forest." 

Allison didn't need to see Stiles' face to know how furious he was, his shoulders shaking in outrage. 

Claudia Stilinski had held the wards of Beacon Hills with her own magic for three days because the recharge team had been 'held up'. She had wasted away, tapping into her own life force to buy the team just a little more time and keep her family safe. An hour after her death, the werewolf that bit Scott McCall waltzed into the village. 

Stiles had lost his best friend and mother in one day, to the rules and needs of Beacon Hills and it had rankled like briar thorn vines underneath his skin. To know that his mother's death and the loss of his best friend had been avoidable. 

Allison couldn't imagine the pain he must be feeling. Instead she pulled him closer, watching the rest of the camp scurry around, except for Deaton. 

Allison thought he looked far too unconcerned for a man that was about to be executed for hiding the werewolf child, Scott McCall, for three weeks. 

 

Lydia was curled up in the corner of the first couch when Allison got home, her hair piled messily atop her head with pencils behind her ears and holding locks in place, and her phone on her lap. Stiles and Derek sprawled across the second couch arguing lazily with Scott about what to watch. Fighting for the remote like teenagers. 

Allison collapsed beside Lydia catching sight of the texts and brushing them aside as she tried to figure out who was winning the argument and what they were watching. She wasn't sure but that was a strange talking animal, that usually meant Scott or Stiles. Except Derek had this thing for Adventure Time.

"Jackson's still not coming back," Lydia whispered finally, her eyes rimmed red and her old mascara smearing on her cheeks. "Why won't he come back?" 

Allison ignored the 'to me' that Lydia didn't say, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her in close. 

"Because he's a dick and you deserve better." Stiles answered instantly, snatching the remote triumphantly. 

Derek nodded in agreement, "Isaac is still single. And he's at least a couple points ahead of Jackson." Derek shrugged off the looks sent his way. "I like Isaac." 

"Only because he's Stiles' favorite!" Scott complained looking for an opening, and huffing when Derek protected Stiles' possession of the remote. 

Allison burst into laughter and didn't understand why. She didn't know anyone named Isaac. Or Jackson. She didn't know Derek and Scott was five years dead with her heart. She could see the same confusion reflected back in Stiles, but Lydia. 

Lydia stared at the room like she was part of wherever they were, like she and Stiles had in previous dreams. 

"Maybe I should," Lydia sighed tiredly, her head falling onto Allison's shoulder. "If Jackson's going to keep making excuses. I mean it's been years and I," Her voice faltered. "I'm still waiting for him to come back. I am, even when Adein, or that one guy, were 'dating' me." 

"You're worth way more than waiting around for Whittemore to figure out how to get his head out of his ass and come home. And I think you should try dating someone else," Scott paused. "Actually dating. Not just sleeping together." 

Stiles closed his eyes, burying his face into the crook of his elbow as the world shifted, something crucial changing, Allison covered her eyes and curled forward. 

The room stunk of rot before anything changed, the words glitching and they knew the moment they were going to wake. 

Lydia screamed. 

Allison snapped upright and crashed out of her tent and into the next one as Lydia's voice rose in volume, Stiles already shaking her, blood trickling from his ears and down his neck. 

She slapped Lydia as the sound reached eardrum-shattering volume, Lydia staring at them for several moments, her breath catching in her throat. Her fingers clung to her blankets and her chest heaved, eyes lost and fearful as the silence rung. 

"What was that?" 

"I don't," Stiles started. 

Lydia silenced him with a look, eyes dark and looking every bit as much a banshee as the ones that Allison had seen scribbled in the Argent family bestiary. 

"What. Was. That?" She repeated, expectant. 

"We, we don't know. It's like your alternate universe theory, where we're older and married." Allison paused uncomfortably. "And happy." 

"Or." 

Allison and Lydia turned to face Stiles, his face flushed and his mouth bitten red. 

"Why do I feel like I don't want to hear this?" Allison whispered.

"Because I don't either," Lydia answered, waving for Stiles to continue with his train of thought.

"Or," Stiles glared. "We're dreaming." 

Lydia hissed dangerously, "Be serious, how could we be dangerous? Tell me one good reason why I should believe a word you say?" 

"We do magic Lyds, there are werewolves. How farfetched would it be if this was a result of a magical trap? A coma?" 

"Here!" Lydia countered. "We do magic here, in this world. For all we know this dream is just that a dream. Completely ordinary and human." 

Allison broke the silence, "Scott is a werewolf, both him and Derek. I-it might be possible." 

She ignored the put upon look that Lydia directed her way in exchange for Stiles' hug. 

Allison was many things and one of them would always be a girl that had loved Scott McCall too much. She would take a world where Scott was alive and her husband over one where he was dead and forever eleven years old any day. She had been happy there and if Stiles was wrong and they died, well Allison would end up at Scott's side no matter what. 


End file.
